


There's only two things to do in a power outage

by spys_written_garbage



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Heavy Drinking, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 08:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spys_written_garbage/pseuds/spys_written_garbage
Summary: Pickles and Skwisgaar are too warm, drunk and lazy to get themselves better ass so they fuck eachother.





	There's only two things to do in a power outage

Mordhaus sucked the power out of the surrounding areas in seconds, the nearest three hospitals lost hundreds and worse of all, all their ice cream had melted.

The heatwave, they were told, had damaged the grid to such an extent that they'd be without power until the next day's afternoon. It was too warm to complain beyond grunts and moans. Their dwindling energy had to be located only on the utmost important.

"You need to save your phones' batteries to contact each other. I'm ah... going to be overseeing the power plant in level 3. It'll... take a while."

"What the fucsh are we shupposed to do all day then!? jab our eyesh out!?"

"Can heat.... escape through our eye-holes?" Nathan stretched towards Murderface's knife. "Fuck this. I'm not dying in here with you assholes." Sitting up evidently took more effort than he had anticipated, but he was determined. He wanted to live. "Is mini-golf electrical?"

"Uh, no Nathan. It's just golf but-"

"We're playing mini golf. You. You, uh, dildo... cleaning the uh... whatever. Get us something we can drink warm"

The klokateer nodded and left the stereo to instruct a handful of other minions, summoning a large barrel to be rolled towards a vehicle downstairs. Enough to last them to the next day's afternoon.

"Just be sure not to use up all the battery on your phones. I'm dismissing non-essential staff today for uh, insurance purposes."

"We's only use dems for emergencies!" Toki was already running to the exit. The plan had sparked enough life into the musicians to allow them to flee to a world of promise and opportunity, that was without their drummer and lead guitarist, who found themselves abandoned.

 

When Skwisgaar managed to drag his putrid body to the living room, he found Pickles panting on the couch, another puddle of sweat and disorientation. Once close enough, Skwisgaar realized he was speaking.

"Help... Help..."

"What happen" The guitarist fell all six feet and two inches to the floor, where he attempted to crawl to his destination, inhibited by discarded cans and other rubbish that had been left uncollected. "Euwgh... engh."

"Dis is hell"

"Why ams we still alives?"

"Skwisgaar..."

"Where dids every bodies go?"

"Skwisgaar..."

"Whats?"

"Where did every body go?"

"I don't knows"

"Nate... En..." his pathetic cries were too shrill to be heard across the room, let alone wherever the singer could have escaped to.

Skwisgaar sighed, resigning himself to lie on the floor with the rest of the garbage. Pickles whined as he picked another warm can off the floor, sniffing as he opened it, maybe he would cry if he had any fluids in his body not being wasted on sweating, the lanky guitarist stretched to grab one of Pickles's drinks. It wasn't even beer, it was some fruity vodka drink for circumstances far more festive than they found themselves in.

Time passed, their labored breathing using up the remaining oxygen in the atmosphere. Skwisgaar rolled on to his back and got himself another can. Precious spring water keeping him alive. "My phones ams outs of battery and I needs to text Tokis. Please... Tells hims I'm goings to die."

"My phone's dead"

"What ams we goings to do?"

"Bout' what?"

"Abouts..." He didn't answer, he just reached blindly under the couch for more alcohol.

Skwisgaar did not find more alcohol under the couch.

Skwisgaar found a dildo. A strap-on dildo.

"Uh..."

A deep sigh

"Ams dis yours?"

Without moving his head, Pickles glanced over. "Yeah" He was audibly drunk, either that or Skwisgaar was too drunk to hear clearly. That was confirmed when he tried to get up to eye-level with his band mate.

"Why's it heres?"

"I thought Na'ten was out here."

"Yous just gonna fuck in de living rooms?"

"Yeah"

Skwisgaar regarded the dick in his hand, looked it over as he felt around for more floor treasures, finding lube and another unopened can of cranberry whatever. He opened the can.

"How longs you been waitings for?"

Pickles whimpered "I dunno. I wanna go back to m' room but it's so far!"

Skwisgaar took a sip as he watched his friend have a break-down.

"Pepper" burp

Sob

"Pockle" slur

"What?"

Skwisgaar rested his chin on the end of the couch, everything in his body was shutting off "Please fuck me" the heatwave fried him like it did the power, dwindling energy had to be located only on the utmost important.

"... Fine. You'll do" Pickles huffed. With much effort he wiped empty cans off his torso and shimmied off his underwear, another huff and he was picking up his dick and lube from the floor, the slight discomfort of putting it in like that heavily outweighing the effort it would take to stand up. Skwisgaar watched him from the edge of the couch, only his eyeballs moving until his friend was ready, the display finally giving him a bit of stamina and a will to live. Fortunate it was that nonchalantness had an allure to it, it sparked enough want for Pickles's attention to get the Swede to move.

They both waited a moment, to gather their strengths, certainly not to think things over. Skwisgaar got up on unstable legs, all the blood in his body staying level with the floor, but miraculously he stayed on his feet.

He stepped out of his underwear when the world stopped spinning and finished the rest of his... fifth? The can fell to the floor too loud in the empty belly of a whale that was their living room. He climbed or dragged himself on to Pickles's lap, panting and smearing their sweat together, a hand on the backrest beside them. They looked like they'd gone at it twelve times already.

Pickles dribbled some lube on his hand before handing the tube over, Skwissgaar watched with intent Pickles's fingers go up and down his cock, the friction generating some energy in the guitarist. With the same lazy movements he let his own fingers dab and prod at his asshole, his overly relaxed muscles making preparation quick, though perhaps he took his time anyway, best not to run out of stuff to do too quickly while they were the last two people left alive in an oven world.

"C'mmere" Pickles curled two fingers at the blonde who slid his legs into reach. Their breathing had settled into something placid and comfortable, their bodies more accepting of the heat now that they were doing something that would make them sweat.

A hand stayed on that couch at all times as if it were a boat, would explain the sea-legs. "C'mmon big bird." Pickles grinned, Skwisgaar blinked before deciding it wasn't worth the effort of thinking. 

With a hand to guide it in, the guitarist lowered himself slow, Pickles's hands rubbing slow encouragement on his thighs, the remains of lube on them making blonde hairs shiny and visible. 

"I don't t'inks I can gets it up... too drunk." He was sitting with a deep exhale that summoned cool air from somewhere hidden deep in him.

"Eh, 's okay" The comparably coarse digits of the drummer scratched Skwisgaar's leg like the head of a cat and at his half-awake cock, giving more fuel to whatever was creating fresh air inside the taller man.

The redhead lifted his lower half slightly, watching the display on his lap like one would stare at a fire.

"Ss...still feels good, right?" Pickles took a big gulp of vodka, half his face scrunching up at the burn.

"Ja" 

The touch was starting to get too warm, Skwisgaar would have hand shaped sunburns if his senses were to be trusted. Still, his pace picked up, their breathing got louder. Pickles reached between them to hold his cock and manually thrusted it between them, causing Pickles to arch forward, Skwisgaar to arch backward and both to hiss and exhale oxygen.

"Like dat?"

"Ja... Ja" the Swede threw his head back

"Ye likessss tha'?"

Just then, the glorious sound of the air conditioning system roared through mordhaus. 

The two men froze. Panting and wide-eyed, they saw electronics flicker and beep back to life, then stared at each other, their hair standing on end and their skin twitching out goosebumps as sweat evaporated from it.

"Pickles! Skwishgaar! shorry we left you! we're home and alsho the power ish- **OGH.... _GOD_**!"

Their three band mates had returned, and were flowing into the living room--the room everybody shares.

"Oh my god" Nathan and Murderface entered first.

"Oh Nathen'! yer hoooom? N'godda beenghack ta' m'room?" Pickles stretched his arms, after a pause that chilled the air more than any machine could, Nathan trotted over to the two and dragged the redhead away, through the hallway and probably to a bathroom. Skwisgaar fell on to the floor and stayed on the floor.

Murderface stayed frozen, the gears in his head just starting to turn, not even reacting to Toki stepping in and gasping loud enough to cause an echo.

"Fucks yous Skwisgaar! you fucks Pickle again!?"

There was a long pause, only the sound of glorious cool air.

"Ewgh.... ja."

"I leaves the phone number of the zany golf mini-course on de fridge and eneyt'ings!"

No response

"You haves no hearts, Skwisgaar"

Toki kicked trash on his path to the couch, sitting down and flicking on a colourful videogame. 

"Ams still horny"

A catchy and condescending tune adorned their reunion perfectly. 

"What the fuck... you guysh got drunker than ush, too, I mean..." Murderface pondered his surroundings as klokateers appeared to clean up the mess and hopefully his life. He retreated to bother their manager once it became apparent he wouldn't get answers and his life wasn't going back to what it used to be.

As hooded servants swept the floor, Skwisgaar threw a useless limb after the other back to the couch, minutes passing before he'd scooped his ass off the floor. Toki just lifted his arms, not putting down his controller or looking away from the screen as Skwisgaar crawled to him like a dying spider. His arms wrapped around Toki's waist and his head finally found true rest on his lap. The younger guitarist then lowered his arms and continued his game.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate description: I just whine for 1708 words about the fucking heat wave.  
> Toki is playing Katamari Damacy.


End file.
